


ShinyZango's The Nutcracker - The Bindings of Monsters

by LionessGamer



Series: The Bindings of Monsters [1]
Category: Nußknacker und Mausekönig | Nutcracker and the Mouse King - E. T. A. Hoffmann, Shinyzango's The Nutcracker
Genre: And Entrapping Curses, And new enemies, Angst, Blood and Gore, F/M, Hans - Freeform, Horror, In later chapters - Freeform, It's gonna be quite a ride, Magical Items, Monster!Hans - Freeform, Non-Canonical Violence, The Nutcracker, clara - Freeform, old enemies, shinyzango, there will be blood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 23:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17192582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LionessGamer/pseuds/LionessGamer
Summary: Previously known as "El Monstruo De Sus Corazones"A curse made in hate can turn a man into a lifeless doll.So what turns a living doll, the purest of hearts . . . into the truest of monsters?There have always been monsters in the world, both within and without, both hidden and in plain sight.However, all are bound, tethered by the bonds that create them, by the bonds that enslave them, and by the bonds that undo them.Hark, little nutcracker. You shall know all three.





	ShinyZango's The Nutcracker - The Bindings of Monsters

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [ShinyZango's The Nutcracker](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/444086) by ShinyZango. 



> First, I would like to clarify that VERY LITTLE in this fiction, be it the concepts, additional characters, or past events, is or will be canon in ShinyZango's story. Monster!Hans himself IS NOT CANON to her Nutcracker story, so please take this writing for what it is: a fan-made AU project based on a concept Zango created FOR FUN. So please, be respectful of her ideas and decisions as well as my own. Monster!Hans is currently just a bit of fun for both of us.
> 
> Songs that helped inspire this project:  
> El Matador Del Mar - Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales Official Soundtrack  
> I’ve Come With a Butcher’s Bill - Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales Official Soundtrack  
> Papercut - Linkin Park
> 
> As an added note, the first chapter does contain a reference to Zango's oneshot writing. It can be found here if you would like to read it first:
> 
> http://shinyzango.tumblr.com/post/168934605790/its-christmas-and-yet-here-i-am-writing-about-an
> 
> Enjoy!

Loud, splitting pops and the vicious sound of tearing saturated the air as splinters flew and mangled chunks fell. Fibers ripped and vessels burst under the brutish force suddenly brought to bear upon them, a hulking strength pulverizing the dead tissue and tearing it asunder. Any relief in pressure was quickly followed by another crushing blow with an audible crack, a low growl accompanying the demolishing axes and hammers of savage teeth.

A rain of ravaged pieces fell to the earth as the teeth swiftly cut and ground their victim to bits, the powerful, snapping jaws leaving nothing unscathed as they chomped along the length of their prey.

So quick was the destruction that it was within moments that the prey was no more, thoroughly obliterated at the feet of the merciless attacker. The figure stood stiffly in place amongst the carnage, another low growl quickly leaving the guilty jaws as bared teeth clicked in a continuous itch to crush and ruin.

The clicking continued for several more tense seconds, the figure’s head snapping to and fro as unseeing eyes searched for another target. Then, with the lurking hunger momentarily sated, its control was soon lost and the tension within the attacker slowly began to recede. The growl rumbling through the air gradually faded into silence and the snapping jaws stilled. Dulled, unfocused eyes blinked into clarity, regaining the light and color that had nearly vanished into the blankness of the stare.

Snapping out of his hazy thoughts, the wooden doll came back to himself, confused and dazed. Shaking his head, the doll nervously looked around as he cautiously tested his aching jaw, feeling something was wrong as his senses once again recognized the sights and sounds of the world around him.

Daylight flittered through the virescent brushes that painted against the deep blue sky above him, the gold-hued streams of light racing down from above to brighten every color they touched on their race to fertile ground. A cool, gentle wind rippled the light and shadows around him as it brought the green canopy above into a gentle dance against the white-clouded ceiling of late afternoon. Grasses and ferns also joined in on the swaying at a lazier pace, the fallen leaves and among them whispering and shivering in the wind as well. Flashes of reds, blues, and browns within the foliage above added to the natural paints of the scene, twittering birds darted from one branch to another in their afternoon conversations and feedings.

Just beyond the sound of the passerines’ whistling chatter and song, the faint noise of splashing and babbling announced the location of a nearby stream, running strong and peaceful beyond the trees ahead of the doll. Its waters were cool and fresh to all who partook in it, fed by the melting ice of the sun-kissed mountain that cut through the sky above and slopped the land below. It towered mightily above them all as a colossus of stone and forest, a gatekeeper to the doll at its feet for the rest of its more frigid brethren beyond. 

With the descending sun shining down upon the beauty of the mountain and its lowest slopes, such a scene within the forest was peaceful, tranquil in its natural splendor.

And yet, this living doll quickly found the peace of his surroundings to be dulled. Fragile. Nearly a lie.

For despite the outside tranquility, there was little peace to be found within himself, as a haunted feeling began to fill his hollowed body.

He could still feel it lingering . . . the numbness in his head . . . the tenseness in his body . . . the ache in his jaw . . . and the burning in his chest. All these things he had felt before . . . and it was truly beginning to terrify him.

His dread rose higher as he began to realize what had just happened to him, his memory of the past minute or so murky and lost in an apparent black out. His last complete memory was of leaning back against a tree, trying to enjoy the scene around him as he waited. However, his thoughts had been dragged down into worry and anxiety, a main cause being the forewarning, hot ache that had begun to plague his chest once again.

There had been a few anxious thoughts, then a touch of frustrated anger as the ache flared painfully again, and then . . . nothing . . . just like that.

And as his fearful gaze fell to his lifted hands, trying to calm their quivering, he caught a glance of the ground beneath them. He felt his nonexistent stomach drop with fresh fear and dismay, his body beginning to tremble at the sight of what he had done.

Without thought. Without will. Without feeling . . . anything . . . _but rage._

“Hans?”

The nutcracker jolted at the sudden voice, his wide, golden eyes darting up from the ground to meet with those of worried sienna.

Hans could only stare, frozen in alarm, as his dear companion emerged from the stand of trees before him, her bright eyes staring back into his with eyebrows and mouth drawn in worry. Fully dressed once again in her freshly cleaned travel dress, her hands slowly lowered from their combing of her long, rosy hair, still damp from her stream bathing. She blinked at him from under masses of shade and sunlight, concerned, before her gaze lowered to his feet. The sight of the shock and confusion alighting upon her expression sent guilt surging through the doll, his still trembling body taking a step away from her in his distress.

“C-Cl-Clara, I . . . I-I-I’m sorry. I . . . I d-didn’t mean to . . .” Once again looking down at his feet, he flinched at the sight of his crime.

The once beautifully carved, hardwood walking staff was a mess of splinters and chips upon the grass and dirt at his feet. The staff had been gifted to Clara by a kindly merchant for their journey over the mountains, a reward for coming to her aid in her time of need. Now, once seemingly held safe in Hans’ hands as Clara had attended to her cleanliness, it had met its unfortunate end unwittingly between the cursed nutcracker’s teeth, rendered utterly useless and lost. The only recognizable piece left was a small chunk of the staff’s top piece still clenched in Hans’ hand, the damaged carving of a fox’s head peeking out from between his large, white fingers.

Even after what he had done to the gifted tool, he couldn’t bring himself to drop its last shard.

The young woman stared down at her shattered staff around her nutcracker’s feet, completely bewildered by the sight. Her wide eyes darting back up to Hans, her confusion and concern increased at his fearful, trembling countenance and quivering voice, her own voice whispering across the grassy space between them.

“What . . . what happened?” At her shocked question, Hans shook his head at her, continuing to tremble. Unable to keep looking her in the eye, his gaze stayed lowered to the dirt speckled with the ruined woodwork, flinching again as fear and shame laced across his face and knotted his voice.

“I-I . . . I . . .” He was choking on his own words, unable to come up with a response past his surging anxiety over the situation he had suddenly found himself in. His stumbling words and visible distress worrying his dear friend further, she began to walk over to him, hands raised in a pacifying gesture as she spoke with worry and reassurance.

“Hans? Hans, it’s okay. It’s-” She stopped in her tracks when Hans suddenly moved. His wide eyes snapping up at her approach, wide and panicked, he quickly made to retreat from her, taking unsteady steps back.

Her hands curling around each other at her chest, Clara stood before him with pained confusion in her wide, brown eyes.

It was almost like he was afraid of her.

“Hans?” The hurt noticeable in her confused tone and caring eyes stopped Hans in his own tracks, his red-painted figure freezing in a darker section of the day’s thick tree shade. He paused for a moment, conflicted and ashamed as he stared at her, before he tried forcing himself to calm down. His shaking began to weaken and his shrinking stature straightened a bit as he took deep breaths, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to tame the wild fear threatening take over. Listening to the world around him, its peace unaffected by his turmoil, his fear gradually dead down.

But it did not fade away.

Not when the terrifying burning in his chest refused to fade as well, like a slow, threatening squeeze of a heated vise around his very core.

Eyes reopened seconds later, their orbs still haunted, but not quite as marred with growing terror. The cursed doll then slowly shook his head at Clara as he meekly answered her.

 “N-No . . . no, it’s not okay.” His tone was like that of a scared child’s, his expression still distressed and his body still tense despite his efforts. Overwhelmed with concern, Clara took a hesitant step towards him. When he did not move away this time, she carefully crossed the rest of the way to him as she tried to reassure him once again.

“Hans, it’s alright. Whatever happened to it, I’m not upset. It . . . It was just a stick.” She glanced down at the destroyed gift for a moment, remembering the lovely carvings of forest life upon its large, knotted top with engravings of leaves and vines wrapping down the long, steady shaft. She remembered the kindly woman who had gifted it to her, so glad to see her late mother’s beloved hiking staff finally being put to good use in the hands of her saviors from those roadside bandits. Clara had spent some time along their continued journey admiring its craftsmanship and using it to more easily cross the steeper hills and gullies leading to the foot of the first mountain. They had planned to put it to even better use upon their mountain climb, but now . . .

Such thoughts brought about a certain sadness within her over the faithful item’s loss, its value precious in the memories of some and beneficial in the survival of others such as herself. But despite that, she would not hold it against Hans if he were at fault for this. She knew him well enough by now to know that he would never destroy such a thing on purpose.

Her thoughts were cut short however when she reached out to place a comforting hand on Hans’ arm. The nutcracker suddenly moved, but did not step away from her. Instead, with his bulky arms crossing his chest in an anxious hug, he turned away from her, trying to discourage her touch and hide the fear so soon growing stronger again upon his expression. His fingers curled tighter around the staff shard still in his hand.

“I-It’s not just that, Clara.” The brittleness of his voice and his refusal to look at her now sent her desire to comfort him skyrocketing. However, the way he was acting made her unsure of if he would appreciate any such gestures at the moment.

Completely conflicted, Clara could only stand beside him in the deep shade of a towering oak, silent and waiting at the very least as a comforting presence for the nutcracker.

There was a long pause between them then, the only sound being the whistle of wind through the trees and the singing of fluttering songbirds. A bit of the cool breeze that had raced down from the mountain above tugged playfully at their hair, his stiff, blackened spikes shaking and her flowing, autumn locks waving as it ran past.

But neither of them paid any attention to their surroundings. Hans’ eyes were boring a hole into an off-standing tree, fearful indecision playing within them as he hid his golden orbs from Clara’s view. The young woman at his side stood waiting in her troubled silence, her eyes never leaving his face and her hands wringing with a need to place her hands upon him and hold him, to ease away whatever anguish he had found himself in. 

“It’s . . . it’s happening again . . .” Clara tensed, caught off-guard by his break in silence. The fearful, ominous whisper that slipped from her nutcracker’s mouth sent a sudden chill up her spine, an unexpected dread sparking to life within her at his tone. She glanced down at the wooden pieces scattered at her feet, the carvings of animals and vines shattered beyond all recognition. Many were torn to tiny shreds and others were crushed into nests of splinters. A foreboding feeling began to arise in her as she looked back up to Hans.

After a moment’s hesitation, she leaned over to the side a bit, trying to see his face better as she questioned him gently, trying to keep the unease from her voice.

“What is?” Hans’ eyes clenched themselves shut tight as his head lowered, his arms hugging himself tighter as a shiver rattled his body. He answered in a trembling voice as he turned his back to her.

“T-The . . . the  ** _frenzy_**  . . . from the last time we fought the mice.” Clara’s whole body tensed, chocolate pupils shrinking in shocked remembrance at his shaky words. The peaceful woodland faded away for a blood-chilled moment.

She remembered a scream, echoing with such rage over the mulling horde that clawed and grabbed at her.

Then there had been blood, arching into the sky and splattering across the ground. Fur-covered arms had fallen into the dirt before her, flesh and bone torn from shoulders in a near instant as terrified screams and agonized shrieks filled the air.

Then Hans had suddenly appeared from the fray, coming to stand rigid between her and their attackers. A rabid snarling had rumbled viciously from him as mice both living and dying had fled from him.

It was at that moment, when he turned at the sound of her careful call, that she had found him to be not her nutcracker, but a ferocious figure, blank, hollow eyes glaring furiously into hers. His body had twitched and vibrated as though in the throes of a vicious malfunction, large fingers curling and clenching at his sides as if desperate to grab and crush something. And his teeth, sharp and crushing like she had never seen them before, had been bared at her in a tightly-clenched snarl, mouse blood splattered across his face and dripping from his jaw to run down his painted chest.

It had been nearly a week since that terrifying day, since he had snapped out of that bloodthirsty frenzy. He had awoken in a daze after he had fallen unconscious from his rage, but she remembered well the absolute horror that had dawned upon his face when he saw what lay around them, when he understood what he had done with his shearing teeth in his unremembered madness. It had taken Clara quite some time to calm him down and even longer to convince him that she wasn’t and _shouldn’t_ be afraid of him.

But she wasn’t the only one dragged into that unwanted memory.

Clara was snapped out of her thoughts when Hans continued, his body beginning to tremble again along with his voice.

“I-I felt like this before . . . before that fight. Like my chest was burning and m-my head felt like I was about to have a migraine. I just needed to snap at something . . . j-just b-bite . .  . e-everything.” Clara flinched, pained by the torment so apparent in his voice and trembling.

She did remember him acting strange the day before the fight with the mice. He had seemed more distant, in the sense of him being frequently distracted as the young woman caught him several times staring off into the void. She saw him flinch many times at seemingly nothing, an almost pained grimace on his lips, and he had at some points reacted to things not going as they should with irritation and anger, behavior that was very unusual for him.

He had told her when she had asked what was wrong that he didn’t know, only that he didn’t feel well. He had apologized for his attitude being a bit snappy and had explained his growing worry over what this aching feeling in his unfeeling doll body could mean. She had tried her best to be reassuring and had tried to help him figure out what could be wrong, but the conversation had quickly drifted off with little more than a promise to seek out help and answers the next time they run into friendly company. The best they could hope for was that they would soon find an artisan who would know what to do or that whatever was ailing him would soon pass.

But it was after that very discussion that she began to catch him baring his teeth at nothing and clicking them in others. She became convinced that she had seen his eyes drain of color in split-second glances. She had even woken up in the middle of that night to see him sitting before the fire, tightly clenching his head with his hands over his face.

She hadn’t been sure at the time if she had heard growling coming from him or if it were the rumbling crackle of the campfire.

“I-I felt it coming . . . . a-and when those mice attacked us, attacked you, I . . . I just . . .  _lost all control._ ” Clara felt like kicking herself for not recognizing the signs sooner. While they had been less obvious this time around, he had indeed been acting strange today, just as he had the day before his frenzy. She had noticed, but hadn’t put much thought into it. They had both been on edge for a while, nervously waiting for an attack at any moment as they journeyed deeper into the mice’s stolen territory.

She felt guilt for her own carelessness and sadness for Hans’ plight as she watched his trembling shoulders. She raised a hand to his back, over the seams of his lever.

“Hans . . .” Hans winced at her sad voice, but did not turn around. Instead, he lifted his hand into his line of sight. Uncurling his fingers, he stared down at the broken piece in his hand, at the fox’s undamaged eye staring back at him accusingly as he shuttered at what he could do without any thought.

“I could have hurt you then . . . I could still . . .” He trailed off as Clara’s hand landed firmly upon his back, her other hand rising to be placed on his arm. The sad timbre of her voice remained strong, but there was an air of confidence within it as well, the kind smile forming upon her lips reflected in her voice as she spoke with honesty.

“But you didn’t. And you won’t. I know you would never harm me.” Her smile brightened a bit, hoping he would turn around. She needed him to see that she was not afraid, to know that she was confident in her belief that he would never hurt her even when frenzied as he had been. She remembered how he had stood protectively between her and the mice and how he had calmed completely at her voice and her touch.

“ _BUT IT WASN’T ME!_ ” The sudden, enraged yell startled the woman, her smile disappearing with a gasp as Hans suddenly spun around. Clara stumbled back as her hands were knocked from his body, her eyes widening in fright at his sudden anger.

He stood before her with an angry scowl and narrowed eyes, teeth gritted and fists clenched at his sides. Her staff’s final shard bounced off the grassy ground at their feet from the force of his downward throw when he had spun around.

Clara stood frozen before him, staring back and watching in shock as Hans’ left shoulder jumped in a sudden, hard twitch and his pupils shrank, their color fluctuating between pale and bright before her very eyes.

The tension lasted but for a moment before Hans blinked and his expression dropped, the anger bleeding out of him like water from an overturned bucket. In an instant, in its place was a look of horror at his sudden outburst and a deep guilt at the sight of her frightened shock. His eyes now watering with tears, he stumbled back, apologizing as his hands rose to hide his face and he retreated deeper into the shadows.

“Cl-Clara, o-oh gosh, I-I’m sorry! I-I-I-” His broken apology was interrupted when Clara quickly crossed the growing distance between them and crashed into him with a tackling hug, refusing him another retreat.

Hans stood stone still with his hands hovering away from his face and his arms raised, completely stuck in a conflict on what he should do as his aching mind blanked.

He needed to leave. He needed Clara away from him and this unfamiliar rage swirling within him. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t bear to shove her off. All he could think to do was listen as Clara muttered against his chest.

“You’re right. It wasn’t really you.” The delicate arms around him grew tighter around his wooden frame as she continued, the feeling of her embrace better coming through his dulled sense of touch. Her gentle smile returned as she spoke.

“But you were still there.  _You_  protected me.  _You_ didn’t lay a hand on me. And you stopped that . . . frenzy . . . when it was all over.” Hans remained still for a moment longer, absorbing her words, before he finally gave in to the part of him that needed her presence, her comfort, despite the danger he was becoming.

“C-Clara . . .” He said brokenly as his arms finally lowered around her, hugging her back tightly as his head lowered over hers. A single tear slipped down his wooden cheek as he pushed his face into her hair, whispering to her with a voice like a frightened child’s.

“ _I’m just . . . so scared_.” Clara felt her heart sink at his vulnerable confession, his body shaking in her arms. She rubbed along his back and over his lever soothingly, hoping he could feel it, as he continued with an anguished air.

“I-I can still feel it. It’s going to happen again . . . a-and when it does . . .” A massive shutter cut through his minor shaking, his joints rattling at its force. Concerned, Clara tried to lift her head and look up at him, but his hold around her held her tightly in place and his head kept hers trapped under his cheek. His eyes screwed shut as he felt the maddening tightness still coiling around his core like a confirming threat to his worst fears, a rage still burning deep inside with no rhyme or reason.

With a shuttering exhale, he whispered softly to her in scared despair.

“ _I would never be able to forgive myself if I hurt you. O-Or . . . or . ._  .” He couldn’t continue. He just couldn’t. Just the thought of that horrible consequence threatened to crush his very soul.

Clara felt both warmth and sadness gather in her chest at the pained misery and worry that the nutcracker in her arms was trapped in. Untangling her arm from under his, she lifted her hand past his face, her palm brushing over his cheek affectionately, and continuing into his synthetic hair. As her fingers combed through his hair, hoping he could feel the comforting ministrations, she whispered gently back to him with affectionate faith.

“You won’t, Hans . . . you won’t. It will be okay. We’ll figure this out.” She continued to hold him, petting his hair and rubbing his back as he trembled and breathed in unsteady rhythms. They stood together for some time, Clara whispering reassurances to her scared friend as the world around them continued to rustle and sing without worry under the sun.

Very gradually, Clara felt the wood pressed against her frame begin to still, the vibrations dying down. The sound of breath beside her head began to settle as well, the hitches in it becoming rarer and rarer. A smile grew across her face as she sensed her nutcracker beginning to calm down, glad that he was starting to feel better.

However, her smile dropped a bit as she thought about the cause. However much she comforted him and believed in him, she knew that his fears in this matter were not unfounded. They still weren’t sure of the reason behind his frenzy or its symptoms, and it was obvious that it was a harrowing experience for everyone involved. Clara couldn’t imagine how terrifying it must be for Hans, to feel something so uncontrollable and raging building up inside him and not knowing how to prevent it from bursting out, from turning him into a wild beast . . . a monster.

They needed to find a way to fight this.

She needed to help him.

Thinking back, she remembered his first frenzy, recalling mainly how Hans had acted during and before. There had definitely been rage in his frenzy, she had seen it. It was a madness that lashed out ferociously at their enemies. And there had been irritation in the symptoms leading up to it, Hans having been frustrated by things easily and becoming unusually aggressive at times. Then remembering Hans’ pained expressions and snappy reactions, both then and now, it seemed to Clara that the buildup of the unwarranted anger was almost painful to the nutcracker, burning and aching within him as he had said.

Gaze drifting down to the ground and over her shoulder, she eyed the remains of her staff, thinking on its destruction and the attack on the mice before.

If the frenzy was based in anger, then perhaps . . .

“Did . . . did letting it out help?” She asked him just as he had begun to loosen his hold around her, his head pulling away from hers to put some space between them. His eyes meeting hers once again, he gave her a confused look, Clara relieved to see that fear no longer dominated his countenance.

“What?” At his question, Clara moved her hands to his chest, one hand gesturing back to the mess of shards and wooden fibers behind her.

“Do you feel better? After . . .” Hans blinked down at her before looking at the ground past her shoulder, flinching at the sight. Reflecting on her question, he reluctantly focused on how he was feeling.

He could still feeling it there, the burning tightness of his chest and a lingering ache in his head. He still felt the fear, the anger, and the irritation that the unwelcome sensations kept causing within him. But . . . now that he was calmer . . . they were duller than before, more pushed back.

“Oh, uh, y-yeah. I think so . . .” He turned his gaze back to her, his expression unsure, but slightly hopeful. Looking back, he had felt worse before he had unintentionally fallen into its grasp mere minutes ago.

“I still don’t feel . . . right . . . but it doesn’t feel as bad now.” Clara brightened at the news, smiling up at him as she nodded her head.

“Then maybe this is a good thing! Perhaps it would help if you had something to take it out on every now and then. Blow off the steam.” She stared at him for a moment, comprehensive over what he could do. It was then that she spotted small scratches around his mouth, a lone splinter even peeking out lodged in the right seam of his jaw. Finally realizing what exactly had happened, she slowly reached up and gently took hold of the splinter with a pinch of her fingers, pulling it out as she spoke from her thoughts.

“Maybe something to bite on?” As she flicked the tiny shard away, she focused back on his face to see he stared at her in a sort of shock. Rather it was from her unauthorized removal of the shard, her suggestion, or both, she was not sure, but she immediately felt like she had crossed a line. Feeling like she had been invasive or insensitive, she quickly tried to amend as her eyes lowered from his. 

“I’m sorry. I mean . . . if you’re not comfortable with that, we could, um . . .” It was silent for several seconds, only the forest around them filling in the quiet void with its natural routines. Then, she heard him exhale in a deep sigh.

“I-If it keeps it from happening again . . . I’ll try it.” Clara’s eyes snapped up to his, surprised, before a relieved and hopeful smile bloomed upon her face, a sigh leaving her as well. Pulling him into another hug, she replied in a light tone.

“Then whenever it starts to get bad, we’ll find something for you to vent it on. With a little luck, that will keep it in check.” Hans hesitated for moment before hugging her back a second time, a little smile at last breaking into his expression.

“Thank you, Clara.” Clara smiled brighter at his lighter tone of voice as she nodded her head against his chest, humming in affirmation.

“You are always welcome, Hans.” She squeezed him for a moment more before stepping back, looking back up at him with a lighter heart. Hans stared back as her arms fell away from him, his arms leaving her body as well. He smiled at her, but it dropped when he caught the sight of the shattered staff, another flinch marking the reappearance of guilt. He gestured to the mess behind her as he apologized.

“And I-I really am sorry about this. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I would never-” Clara cut him off with a shake of her head, placing a hand on his arm as she responded with absolute honesty.

“It’s alright, Hans. Your wellbeing is far more important than any walking stick’s.” Hans stared back, a bit of disbelief in his golden eyes, before he relaxed, another sigh leaving him as he smiled at her again. There was still guilt and fear within him over what he had done, but Clara’s warm smile and understanding eyes was not something he could counter here.

“Thank you.” He placed his hand over hers as he quietly spoke, a small gratefulness alighting upon his voice. Clara nodded to him, glad to have helped in any way.

They stood before each other a moment longer, both considering their next move. Hans’ eyes became stuck to the broken staff, expression slowly sobering. Closing his eyes and letting out another unnecessary breath, Hans lifted his hand from hers, allowing her to pull it back. Opening his eyes to hers, he gave her a weak smile.

“I’ll uh . . . I’m going to go find some more wood for tonight’s fire. I’ll try to see if I can find a branch good enough to use as a walking stick for you as well. It won’t be anything like Ava’s staff, but . . .” His smile faded away, his still present guilt bleeding through a bit as he shrugged dejectedly. He then grimaced, another thought coming to him. Reluctantly, he added to his plans as he took some steps away from her.

“And . . . and I’ll see if I can find anything to, uh . . . b-bite on . . . while I’m at it.” Clara nodded in acceptance, but her expression became worried at his slight regression into negativity and his sudden departing. She called to him as he continued to step away.

“Alright, but are you sure that you’re feeling alright now?” Hans nodded with a small smile, already turning away from her to make his way deeper into the trees.

“Yeah . . . yes. As okay as I can be right now.” He stopped for a moment to look over his shoulder and reassure her one last time.

“I won’t be far. If you need me, just yell out.” He waited for Clara’s response, watching her with a small smile. The young woman stood silent for a short time, conflicted, before responding with a weak smile of her own.

“O-oh. Alright. Good luck!” Hans nodded to her, turning his head to face forward. But right as he did so, Clara saw his face change. As his head turned away, his smile began to drop, a grimace pulling it down. His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows arched, all combining to form an expression of discomfort until his face was hidden from her sight. He walked away, the thick stand of trees soon surrounding him and blocking him from view. Clara saw his hand lift from his side to his front a moment before he finally disappeared completely behind the numerous trunks and tall undergrowth, leaving the woman alone near their chosen campsite.

The red-haired girl stared after him, stuck in place as her worry returned for what she had seen. She contemplated going after him, to make sure he was alright, but decided otherwise. She didn’t want to force anything out of him and they both had tasks to complete. Besides, she could discuss what they planned to do about his condition once he returned.

With a sigh, she turned away, intent on getting things ready for the approaching night. She walked forward, eyeing the pieces of shattered wood upon the ground as she stepped around them. She stopped, however, when she spotted the shard that Hans had thrown down, the fox’s ear pointing up at her. Bending down, she gently lifted the piece, feeling the splintered edges poke at her fingers. The round eye of the elegant fox carving stared up at her, its body curling in the center of her palm with shredded edges that cut across its body and face.

Running her fingers lightly over the fox’s head, Clara stared at it for a time, thinking and remembering over the damaged, wooden image of the sly animal. She then took a deep breath and held the shard close, continuing forward and leaving the rest of her fragmented staff to be claimed by the forest.

* * *

 

Time carried on, pushing the sun further towards the horizon. Blue began to wash with whites and pale oranges as the shining orb announced across the sky the beginning of its daily departure from the region. In acknowledgement of the sun’s endless cycle, the cold, white caps of the mountains had begun to slowly take on their gold and fiery hues of late evening, darkening white clouds continuing to drift by their brilliance. In the forest below the frontlining mountain, shadows had lengthened and darkened. The whistling of singing birds and the chirps of woodland creatures were still present amongst the trees, but reduced to a less populated chatter as they attended to some of their last feedings and conversations of the day.

Among the denizens of the mountain’s lowest forest, the red-haired maiden crouched beside a fallen log in a tiny clearing, the sturdy trunk laying a small distance from a prepared fire ring and a stack of wood for a fire. A juicy crunch cut through the relative silence as the woman’s teeth sliced through the flesh of a reddened apple, one of three that her nutcracker had returned with on his last venture retrieving firewood. Chewing on the fruit of nature’s labor, Clara held the apple aloft in an ungloved hand while she finished smoothing out her bedroll alongside the log with the other. Finishing her task for the moment, she took a step away and sat down upon the log next to her resting satchel, Hans’ hat, and their supply bag, taking the lull in work to enjoy the peace and her treat.

The sound of footsteps to her right drew her eyes away from a pair of squirrels racing in the tree branches ahead, her head turning to the side towards the sound as she swallowed her food.

Hans came around the splayed shield of the fallen tree’s exposed, gnarled roots, another load of wood in his arms. Stopping before the pile of dead branches and broken saplings next to the fire ring, Hans carefully bent down and deposited his latest haul, increasing the size of their haphazard stack of wood to use for the night ahead. However, among his hull were two, long branches, nearly two inches thick and as straight as tree branches came. They were not old, but freshly harvested from a living tree, with all of their smaller branches stripped from them.

Straightening back up with the two branches still in his hands, Hans moved towards Clara, a hesitant look in his eyes. Stopping next to her, he held one out to her a bit tentatively.

“Will, um . . . will this work?” He meekly asked. Clara stared at the offering for a moment before taking the branch from him, feeling the solid strength and smooth bark of the new staff. Then, planting the end of the staff against the ground, she applied some force to it and fount it not bending, holding her weight successfully. Looking back up at him, she smiled as she answered him.

“Yes! This will work great! Thank you, Hans!” His empty hand went to the back of his head in a nervous scratch as Hans smiled back at her.

“Oh, there’s really no need to thank me at all! It’s the least I could do after . . . what I did.” His smile dropped a bit at his ending statement. Clara could see the guilt still swimming in his golden eyes and could hear it in his docile voice. With a sympathetic look, she set her new staff down beside the log and placed her freed hand on his arm as he sat down next to her, careful to not disturb or step on their spread of travel supplies around the log.

“Hans, it was not your fault. We both know you never would have broken it voluntarily.” Facing forward, Hans glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a small frown now present on his face as he took heed of her words. Breaking eye contract, he looked down at the other length of wood still in his hand. It was a bit longer than Clara’s new walking stick and almost an inch thicker, the trunk of an older sapling rather than a branch from a fully grown tree. He stared at it in silence, his gaze uncertain, contemplative, and a bit reluctant. Concerned by his sudden silence and conflicted expression, Clara called to him, tilting her head a bit to see his face better.

“Hans?” He didn’t react to her voice, silent and still beside her, but she could see his expression beginning to clear. A determination was quickly overturning the uncertainty in his eyes and, with a short, searching glance at Clara, a decision was made, a resolve coming to him as he pointedly looked away. Then, with little hesitation, he brought the end of the sapling parallel to his mouth, dropped his hinged jaw, and bit down.

Clara’s eyes widened in surprise at his sudden action, watching in silence as his teeth sliced through the wood like a knife to butter. The wood cracked and splintered under the pressure before the sharp edges of his teeth easily separated the end of the trunk from the rest. Lowering the rod of wood, he set about pulverizing the chuck in his mouth, cracking and chewing it into a rain of pieces and fibers within seconds. Shards fell from his mouth until his chewing chomps ceased to fill the air with cracks. Then, opening his mouth, he spat out the rest, hunching over to try to use gravity to empty his mouth of the mulched wood.

He straightened up with a rather unenthusiastic grimace on his lips, some stubborn splinters still present in his teeth and in the seams for his jaw. Clicking his teeth gently, he turned to her with an uncomfortable wince, unhappy with the mess in his mouth. However, there was still a resolve in his eyes and he was already raising the bitten stick to his mouth again as he spoke.

“Um . . . how many times do you think I should do this?” Clara gave him a sympathetic smile at his question, uncertain of an answer. Moving her hand to lay it on top of his perched on his knee, she hesitated for a moment before giving her suggestion.

“Well . . . maybe try a few more bites and see if you feel any different after that.” Squeezing his hand, she then moved hers up to his mouth, pulling a large shard from the corner of his mouth that she knew he couldn’t feel. Flicking it away, she looked him in the eyes and frowned at the discomfort still present in them.

“But  _only_  if you’re comfortable with continuing.” She clarified, wanting him to know that he wasn’t being forced to do anything he didn’t want to.

Han lowered the stick a bit, considering her words. Glancing away, he looked down at the torn end of the sapling in his hand. Then with a sigh, he brought it back to his mouth and bit down, splintering cracks echoing in the air before Hans lowered the now shorter length of wood again. As he chomped away at another piece, Clara patted his shoulder, Hans glancing back at her as she spoke reassuringly with a small smile.

“Just for a little while, Hans. Hopefully, this is all you will need to do.” Wood and bark popping between his teeth, Hans simply nodded, hopeful as well.

He hoped that this would work, would calm the dangerous rage that he seemed to have been cursed with along with his unfeeling form, but he also hoped that he wouldn’t have to do this for very long. He was grateful that he couldn’t taste the sharp wood and sticky sap in his mouth, and partially grateful he could barely feel it. But it didn’t help that he was currently just short of eating a tree, and his dulled sense of feeling and a barely movable tongue made getting the resulting mess out of his mouth difficult.

Watching Hans empty his mouth again as best he could, this time behind their log seat to keep their area clean, Clara frowned in pity, hoping that this solution would work. With a last worried look at him, she turned her gaze back to the section of forest before them, taking another bite of her apple. The skin of the fruit crunched and crumpled between her teeth as the fibers of the sapling broke and shattered between Hans’.

They both took several bites together in relative silence, both becoming lost in thought as they sat side by side watching the deepening evening. Soon enough, Clara finished her apple with one last bite, carefully tossing the seed-filled core into the bushes a short distance behind them. Looking back at Hans as she swallowed, she found him with the sapling already reduced to the size of a small baton in his hand, the nutcracker slowly shredding another piece between his teeth as he stared out thoughtfully into the trees ahead.

Content that Hans seemed to be doing well at the moment, Clara looked away, her gaze drifting over to her bag as another crunch from Hans filled the air. There, her sight landed on the fox carving of her gifted staff, sitting daintily on top of her satchel’s brown leather. She stared at it for a moment before reaching down, taking it into her hand once again.

Running her thumb along the fox’s curling body, she smiled fondly down at the carving, its image very much in resemblance to their friend, the Fox Guardian. She caressed the image again, thinking back to the kindly, spirit-like guardian that had once been the fox kit that Hans had saved from a bear trap and befriended as a child. He was one of the few Guardians who yet remained to protect and tend to the ancient, peaceful lands on which the Doll Kingdom had been built upon, the animal guardians having been hunted down one by one by the mice in their own territories.

The last they had seen of Hans’ old friend was as the giant fox had vanished into the deeper protection of his wilderness, taking with him the animals and people that had survived the carnage brought to his mouse-scarred realm.

She sincerely hoped that he was well, and now safe from the mice’s reach.

Bringing the shard up for closer inspection, she turned the piece over and back, examining the torn edges and delicate cuts. As the fox stared calmly back, the girl took note of half an antler branching from the splintering side where a deer carving had once been, almost forming something like a crown above the fox’s head.

* * *

 

A strong wind ran down from the mountain and into the ocean of trees below, one of many to come through with the approaching night to shake the towering trees and rustle the clinging brush. The scrapping and rubbing of innumerous leaves and branches created a roaring crescendo, the power of the wind reverberating loudly into the ears of all.

_Perfect._

He moved forward at a quicker pace, the wind masking the rustle of his bulk as he slinked his way through the thick brush on all fours. His claws sank eagerly into the earth as he moved closer, his sharp, yellow teeth bared and clenched in wicked anticipation. The twisted branches and skeletal twigs scratched at his battle-scarred armor and tangled on his dark grey fur and blackened mane, but he paid them no heed. Even the thorns stabbing at his cheeks and palms did not deter him from the familiar scent carried to him on the breeze.

Then suddenly, the wind began to weaken, the cascade of trembling leaves growing quieter as the flow lost its strength. Within moments, the verdure of the forest became still, their chorus silenced to a low murmur. He stopped in his tracks as the world quieted to only birdsong, his tail lifting swiftly with a tilting twitch. The signal silenced all noise behind him, all movement disappearing from the thickets and undergrowth at his back.

His muzzle curled in an impatient snarl, but he kept himself still and kept his frustrated growl trapped in his throat. He just had to wait for the next wind, for the next opportunity to stalk closer to their target undetected.

Just a little closer.

Just a few more yards and the prey they had long tracked would be within their claws.

And then, he was going to enjoy the pleasure of tearing that wretched toy’s soul straight out of his shattered chest.

* * *

 

“Ah!” Hans jolted against the log at Clara’s sudden pained cry, somehow almost choking on the wooden debris he had been emptying from his mouth to the ground behind him. Instantly panicked, he spun himself around and jumped to his feet.

“Clara?! What’s wrong?!” He nearly shouted in alarm, small, lingering chips of wood flying from his mouth as the last piece of his chew stick dropped from his hand.

Before him, the young woman sat cradling her hand, the staff shard she had been holding laying in the grass at her feet. At his worried call, her gaze shot up to his, raising her other hand in a calming gesture as she quickly reassured him.

“It’s nothing, Hans! I’m okay! I just accidently pricked my finger.” She then uncurled her hand at her chest and showed Hans her finger as his tense body began to relax at her words. Looking down at her upturned hand, he spotted a long, needle-like splinter stabbed deep through the skin of her index finger, the sight making him wince in sympathy and blush in embarrassment for overreacting. He forced himself to calm down as he watched Clara turn her finger from side to side, inspecting the damage.

She winced as well at the sight, as well as in pain. She had held the shattered piece of her staff too hard too suddenly when she had twisted it around in her hand, unintentionally jamming a large, loose splinter deep into her finger. She looked up from the bleeding wound when she saw Hans move before her, staring as he bent over a bit and reached for her hand with concern in his eyes.

“Let me see.” He requested. Clara immediately shook her head, but allowed Hans to gently take her bleeding hand into his and look it over as she tried to reassure him.

“Hans, I’m fine, really! I’ve pricked my fingers on sewing needles back at home more times than I can count!” Hans listened to her as he held her open hand between his, watching her blood slowly bead around the small, wooden spike. After a few seconds of watching, Hans slowly brought his other hand hovering over hers, his fingers stopping short of hers as he looked up at her with concerned hesitation.

“I’m going to pull it out. Is . . . is that okay?” Clara stared back at him in surprise, glanced down at her finger, and then looked back up at him. Then, with a small sigh, she nodded, giving him a small smile.

With her permission, Hans nodded back, smiling gently as well. Looking back down at the painful-looking puncture, he took a breath as his fingers inched closer to it.

“Okay . . . on 3.” He said as the very edges of his large fingers pinched at the exposed end of the large splinter, finally grabbing firm hold after a few tries. Staying as still as he could, he started counting as Clara prepared herself.

“1 . . . 2 . . .” His hand darted away, his pinched fingers taking the sliver of wood with them. Clara immediately yelped at the sharp pain of the quick removal, the yelp becoming a hiss as blood began to flow freely over the side of her finger. Hans let the splinter of wood fell to the ground as his other hand released hers, allowing her to quickly bring her bleeding finger to her lips. She held it there for several seconds, the taste of her blood on her tongue as she tried to stem the bleeding.

“Ah! Oh, that smarts.” She said as she took her finger away from her mouth, watching with a frown as the blood quickly reappeared despite her efforts to clean it away. Hans watched her repeat the process, frowning as well when the blood continued to flow upon releasing it back into open air. The skin around the nasty puncture had even began to turn red with irritation and Clara winced at the ache that it produced.

After a few seconds of watching, Hans suddenly straightened up, an idea shining in his eyes as he looked around. After a moment or two, he seemed to find what he was looking for when his eyes landed on the fan of thick roots behind him, marking the bottom of their uprooted seating.

Clara looked up from her finger when he suddenly began walking away from her, wondering what he was doing as she watched him.

“Where are you going?” She asked curiously, lowering her finger from her lips. Hans glanced back at her as he stopped beside the roots, giving her a small smile.

“Just here. I might know of something that may help.” With that said, he focused once again on the tangling roots, walking around them slowly as he searched carefully. Clara watched him with a bit of confusion, wondering what he could be looking for, but decided to let him try whatever idea he had.

Looking back down at her bleed, she frowned at the sight of the blood already gathering over the edge of her finger to drip down to the ground. Then, with a tinge of homesickness, she remembered what her mother used to do for small cuts and bleeding pricks like this. Sighing, she muttered to herself in a longing tone.

“I wish I had some honey. Some would do great for this.” She pouted a bit, putting her finger to her lips again, before looking down, remembering the cause of her injury.

The staff shard lay at her feet, its light-brown grain marred by a single spot of red that had managed to drip onto it. Grimacing, she reached down with her uninjured hand and carefully picked it up, staring at the spot of blood upon the fox’s face. Her thumb then moved and ran against it, trying to rub her blood off the carving. The action only worked to smear the red color across the wood, the color only slightly fading as it painted a red streak. With more rubbing failing to remove the blood, she gave up with a sigh, staring at the carving in thought for a few moments. Then, deciding nothing more could be done at the moment, she moved the shard to her side and opened one of the small packs attached to her belt. Carefully, she set the last shard of Ava’s staff into the empty bag.

She would try cleaning it with water later.

Closing and securing the pack’s opening, she looked back up to see Hans returning to her, a hand held palm up.

Clara blinked in confusion. She couldn’t see anything in his upturned hand.

“Here.” He said gently as he knelt down in front of her, mindful not to disturb the fire ring behind him. Gently taking her hand, he placed it palm-up on her lap, noting the bead of blood slowly reemerging from the cut. Releasing her hand, his large fingers moved to the palm of his open hand. Clara watched in surprise as his fingers pinched and pulled back, and a thick film of white, sticky strands stretched after them, previously invisible against his white hand. As Hans worked with focus to try to arrange the multitude of silky threads into a suitable shape with his large, unfeeling fingers, Clara blinked in realization of what they were, asking in a confused, almost uneasy voice.

“Cobwebs?” Hans nodded at her, smiling reassuringly as he finally got the webs under some length of control.

“Uncle would use clean cobwebs on my small scrapes and cuts when I was younger. It’s an easy way to stop little bleeds and prevent infection.” He gently explained, positioning the stretch of web between his hands above Clara’s bleeding finger. He glanced up at her, eyes asking for permission. Clara was still for a moment, staring at the white webbing with uncertainty. While she did not have a large fear of spiders and had many times admired the designs of their webs, she still did not find the feel of their sticky homes on her to be very enjoyable.

But still, Hans was looking to help her and she did recall hearing once before that spider webs could be used as he said.

And so, with a deep inhale, she nodded to him as she quickly cleaned the current stream of blood from her finger. She then held her hand out in offering, leaving only her injured finger extended. Smiling at her, Hans focused back on the webs, slowly lowering them onto her bleeding cut. Clara watched as Hans then concentrated on wrapping the thick webbing around her finger, working to detach the clinging strands from his fingers and onto hers. After a minute of silent working, Hans then leaned over to the side and took a good-sized, flexible, rounded leave from the thick bush growing beside the log, carefully checking its cleanliness before wrapping and pushing the curling green leaf securely around the grabbing webbing. Once the leave completely covered the webs, he paused for a moment of thought, noting the webs’ secure hold, but his doubts remaining.  Then quickly coming up with an idea, Hans looked over at his shoulder, hesitating for a second before he reached a free hand up to his epaulet.

“Hans—” Before Clara could protest any further, he grabbed hold of a piece of its fringe and gave the strand a sharp tug, pulling it free from his body with barely a flinch. He quickly smiled reassuringly back at her as he brought the piece forward.

“It’s okay, Clara. It didn’t hurt anything.” Before she could say anything else on the matter, he determinedly brought the golden string to her finger, wrapping the thick thread around the frond and tying it down securely, but gently, around the natural bandage with only a few fumbles of his large fingers. Clara remained still for him, letting him finish the task he was so determined to complete until he finally leaned back and let Clara inspect his work.

The tip of her finger was covered in a layered cocoon of white, the webbing sticking to her fair skin and the plant cover stubbornly and securely. A speck of red had been visible through the webbing over her cut, but it had not appeared to be expanding before Hans had added the leafy covering to protect the webs and keep them on her finger. The sun-golden thread of his epaulet topped off both parts of the small make-shift bandage, tied in small, bow knot made secure enough to keep everything in place, but loose enough to remove later and not restrict blood flow.

Despite her previous, small objections, a bright, beautiful smile graced her lips as she looked up at Hans from the improvised bandage he had provided, gratefulness and a bit of wonder warming her eyes.

“Thank you, Hans.” At her warm voice and sweet expression, a light blush invaded Hans’ wooden cheeks, his hand raising to scratch the side of his head bashfully.

“Y-You’re welcome.” He stammered, smiling back at her. All was well and good between them before Hans’ eyes suddenly snapped wide, a look of dismay crossing his face. Clara’s expression dropped, instantly becoming confused and worried, before Hans pulled his hand away from his head, her gaze just catching sight of thin strands of the leftover webs stretching between his hand and his hair.

Clara’s uninjured hand quickly slapped over her grinning mouth to trap in her laugh.

* * *

 

A bluebird burst from the low-hanging branches above, flying away frantically as it gave shrill alarm. Several similar calls answered it and the sound of frantic scratching told of a grounded squirrel nearby racing up a tree to safety.

He could barely keep himself from snarling viciously, could barely keep from spinning right around and flying at whatever imbecile was clumsy enough to startle a brain-dead bird in a tree.

If their prey was attentive enough, a damn slipup like that would blow their entire approach!

Freezing dead still, his ears flicked forward, listening intently. His lowered tail made a quick slash through the air in silent warning, the simple motion promising wrathful consequences to whoever dared make a single move.

The bird’s call faded into the distance as he and his pack became like rocks amongst the bush, silent and still. The only visible movement was the slight twitch of his ears, zeroing in on the faint pair of voices conversing ahead. Based on their tones and the absent noise of hurried movement, it didn’t seem that they had heeded the bluebird’s warning.

Their approach was still undetected.

And just in time, the trees had begun to shake once more, another powerful, mountain wind filling the world with the roaring clamor of fluttering leaves.

Nature’s signal to advance. No time to waste.

A flick of his tail in signal and they stalked forward as one, the sound of their noisy passage and their lightly clinking armor hidden under the guise of wind. He kept to the shadows, the others following his lead in silence.

Within moments, the voices ahead were clearer. He was able to make out words. And their scents were much stronger, the memories they brought fueling the wrath growing within him.

They were very close now. Just within reach. Just as unsuspecting.

Two twitches of the tip of his tail and the rustling at his back faded off.

Within moments, any sign of his pack behind him was gone. Fanning out, they had sleeked off under shadow and undergrowth to crawl away in a slow, deadly arch around their target, a formation like a giant maw opening up to swallow the pair ahead whole.

He continued forward as well, moving straight down the middle towards his goal with growing zest. From one shadow to another, from tree to tree, through one wall of overgrown ferns to the next, he drew closer and closer.

At long last, he caught sight of them through the final stand of trees just a few feet away. He peered over the edge of a shallow ditch, crouched stone-still at its dipping edge as the wind died down. Pieces of the girl could be seen beyond the screen of forest before him, her amber hair and purple dress standing out brightly against the browns and greens of the forest. However, his dark, red-rimmed eyes were immediately locked to the colors of red, white, and gold moving slowly across the gaps between the trees and foliage. His eyes never blinking, they tracked his quarry until it finally stopped before a decent opening between the trees, the doll’s head in clear view as it toyed with something in its hands.

Murderous rage began filling his whole being at the sight of the nutcracker’s ugly mug, flowing like lava from his chest, through his veins, and into his dripping teeth and flexing claws. Slowly, one black-clawed hand began to rise, reaching for the deadly steel that awaited wickedly at his armor’s back.

His whole body was tense and ready to pounce, his breath beginning to leave his muzzle like a raging bull’s as his hand snapped tight around the wood and metal stained black from seasons of spilled blood and ruptured souls.

On the next gale, its blade would taste more.

_Soon, little brother._

**_SOON I’LL HAVE THE THING’S HEAD BURNING IN OUR HEARTH!_ **

* * *

 

Light giggles twinkled through the air with the birdsong as the last strands of sticky, white webbing were pulled from Hans’ stiff, black hair by a gentle hand. His head bowed and turned to the side for her, Hans listened to Clara’s bell-like laughter in both embarrassment and calm as he kept himself still under her gentle fingers.

At last, her combing digits fell away from him, her hand lowering to the ground to wipe off the lingering webs onto the grass as she spoke.

“There. All done!” She announced. At her confirmation, Hans straightened back up, coming to stand before her with his hair clean and a bashful blush still present on his cheeks. He forced the embarrassed pout upon his lips into a grateful smile, mentally restraining himself from scratching at his head again in his nervous tick despite his hand now being rid of cobwebs.

“T-Thanks.” He stuttered sheepishly, his nervous hand settling for scratching at his cheek instead.

Clara shook her head at his thanks, smiling up at him as she waved him off.

“There is no need to thank me. It’s the least I could do for all your help.” She said honestly as she held her bandaged finger up between them in plain view, her emphasis clear.

The nutcracker’s gaze drifted over at her gesture and he looked upon his medical handiwork with mild consideration and some satisfaction, giving himself time to relax from his small bit of humiliation.

His attention was then snapped away from her mending wound when the wind suddenly picked up again, the mountain breeze forcibly rattling the trees and whistling past their ears. Hans watched as Clara’s hair waved and weaved wildly within the invisible currents, the woman’s head ducking a bit into her dress’s collar as the chilled air prickled at her neck and face. She shivered slightly at the feeling as she lowered her presented, ungloved hand, bringing it to the other to rub them together in an effort to keep them warm against the growing cold.

Alerted by her reactions, Hans glanced around, his eyes sharp on the sight of the deepening shadows and the golden hue overtaking the forest’s rich earth colors. Looking towards the sky through the shivering tree branches, he could see the sun floating beside the mountain that towered above them, the light’s place in the deepening blue sinking lower and lower.

They had maybe an hour or so before the blazing orb would finally disappear beneath the horizon beyond the mountain, taking with it all its warmth until dawn.

Looking back at his dear friend sitting before him, still wringing her hands against the growing chill, he knew they couldn’t waste any more time or daylight.

“It’s getting late. It’ll be dark soon and the temperature is going to drop even further tonight now that we’re this close to the mountains.” He said to Clara, catching her full attention again. She glanced around as well at his words, quickly coming to fully realize just how late the day was becoming. She could definitely feel how cold it was becoming as well, the comfortable coolness of the air before swiftly turning into a biting chill. Convinced, she nodded to him in agreement.

Stepping over to the side to stand next to their supplies, Hans’ eyes swept over their prepared fire pit and their stack of firewood and tinder for the night, inspecting them with an almost calculating gaze. His golden gaze then traveled to their bags upon the log and the small spread of their stock at his feet, his eyes searching for something before lifting to Clara’s gaze with a question.

“I need to get the fire started. Do you know where the flint and steel is?” The red-haired woman perked up at his question, her own eyes darting to their supplies to scan for the asked items herself. After a brief moment to confirm that the fire starters had not been set out with the rest, she lifted a finger to Hans in a gesture to wait as she responded, already reaching for the first bag to begin her search.

“Oh, yes! Um . . . one moment! They should still be in one of the bags.” Pulling their rucksack closer, she moved the edges of the draw-stringed opening to the side and began digging, reaching a hand in to move aside small packages of food and unneeded tools alike. As she searched, Hans turned away to busy himself, bending down to gather up the small mound of tinder he had collected. He stood concentrating on forming a loosely woven nest with the dead leaves, pine needles, and bark shavings as Clara finally pushed the bag aside, her hunt unsuccessful.

“No. Not in this one . . .” She huffed disappointedly under her breath, turning away to search her satchel bag next. Quickly tumbling with the main flap’s buckle, she pulled the securing strap free and flipped the opening’s cover out of the way.

The first item to greet her sight was her favorite nightdress, cleaned, lightly worn, and neatly folded over the rest of the satchel’s contents.

And there, sticking out from beside the dress, was the curling length of steel, its flint companion likely hidden beneath it.

“There you are!” With a victorious grin, Clara reached in and pushed her soft dress aside, intent on fully revealing the vital tools and pulling them out.

A thousand glittering lights burst softly before her eyes with the sudden arrival of golden sunlight to the inside of the bag, the abrupt sight freezing her in place. She stared down at the source of the soft lights in silence, recognition of the item alighting upon her expression as it fell into a puzzled frown, her mind soon becoming lost in thought and in the sluggish shifting of the lights’ colors. Several moments passed without her knowledge, her eyes and mind narrowing in deep thought over the mysterious item within her sight and possession.

“Clara?” The sudden call of her name startled her back to reality, her head snapping to the side to see Hans watching her with the prepared tinder nest perched in his hands. At his confused and worried expression, Clara jerked back to her task, shaking her head free of the interrupting thoughts.

“Oh! Oh, sorry!” She exclaimed with some embarrassment for losing her train of thought like that. Quickly reaching into the bag, she grabbed hold of the steel strip and its flint partner laying beneath it, pulling them out and holding them out for the nutcracker to take.

“Here you go.” She said with a smile. Hans hesitated for a moment, his concern still present, before returning her smile with a small one of his own. Taking a few steps forward, he reached out for the offered tools with gratitude.

“Thank you, Clara. I’ll have the fire going soon enough.” He reassured as he gently took the instruments from her hand. With a grateful nod to her, he turned back to the fire pit, circling around it to an open side to avoid their supplies and Clara’s bedspread being in his way.

Kneeling down, he set the bundle of tinder down before him, close to the fire’s ring, and quickly set about striking the flint against the steel above it, hoping for a spark to land soon. He gave the steel several strikes with the flint, nothing happening at first, before a weak spray of sparks showered down from the tools and onto the dry kindling. Hans’ own golden eyes sparked with hope at the sight, but his encouraged expression quickly faded when no light remained on the tinder nest after the strike, no smoke marking the captured birth of a fire.

With a little huff of frustration, he struck the steel again and again, getting a few more, weak sparks, but remarkably no takers to the dry bundle. He could feel his frustration rising at the repeated failures, the feeling unusually hot for his normal temperament.

Recognizing the dreadful ache strengthening once again within his chest and head, he quickly leaned away with a surge of worry, taking a minute to calm his frustration and take a few breaths against the strange anger, as unnecessary as the breaths seemed to be for his lungless, wooden body.

Eyes having closed in his very brief mediation, he reopened them again slowly, looking worriedly down at the tools in his hands, then at the still unlit fire. Reflexively raising one hand to his chest, he eyed one of the thick pieces of wood set out for the fire, debating on if he should try biting again.

Anything to keep the terrifying anger away.

With a sigh, he set the flint down in the grass and reached for a thick, wooden piece stacked at the top of the wood pile, deciding it would be best to chew on something while he worked. After all, so far it seemed that Clara’s suggestion was working. While still felt, the angry burning within him was weaker than before, calmed and subdued but for a bit of stubborn resistance. He hoped that just a few more bites would push the rest away, completely out of him if he was lucky.

Carefully removing the stick as to not disturb the rest of the pile, he gave out one last sigh as he brought the wood stick to his ready teeth.

However, he stopped short when he glanced up, catching sight of Clara still sitting upon the log on the other side of the fire pit.

Suddenly, in her hands was a glittering length of rope, its crystalized threads shining like veins of multicolored diamonds in the golden sunlight. The young woman was staring down at the dimly glowing cord, its sparkling purples, blues, and pinks reflecting brightly in her narrowed eyes as she examined the object in deep thought.

Lowering the dead branch from his open jaws, Hans frowned in concern at the uncertain look entering Clara’s expression, her eyes seeming to be searching fruitlessly for something within the magical rope’s very threads.

“Um, Clara?” Hans called hesitantly, breaking the girl’s thoughtful trance once more. With a small start, Clara’s wide, eyes lifted to his, blinking at him as she collected herself from her thoughts for the second time.

“Yes, Hans?” She asked, realizing that he had called her name questioningly.

Now with her attention, the nutcracker hesitated, unsure if his concern was warranted. Nervously glancing between the awaiting wood in his hand and the woman’s patient eyes beyond the fire pit, he debated with himself for a few seconds over if he should pry. Finally, he made up his mind, setting the wood and steel down and locking his eyes with hers as he asked out of concerned curiosity.

“Is . . . is everything okay?” The young maiden stared back at him in surprise at his question, tilting her head a bit in puzzlement of his concern. But then, breaking eye contact with him to look back down at the shimmering threads resting in her palms, her confusion faded into somber understanding. Nodding her head to him, the girl answered in a mild tone, an uncertainty of her own hiding just beneath the surface of her voice.

“Oh . . . oh yes. Everything’s fine.” But the cursed nutcracker wasn’t the least bit convinced by her answer. The very way she responded confirmed to him that there was something bothering her, likely to do with the magical gift that lay limp in her hands and on her lap. It was obviously the focus of her concern and he was eager to help ease her mind.

But again, his uncertainty on if it was appropriate to pry made him pause and fidget, his mouth opening and closing in his indecision to question Clara further.

Fortunately for the doll, the decision was made for him when she suddenly spoke up, her tone hesitant as she continued to watch the crystal-like rope sparkle in her hands.

“It’s just . . . I’ve been thinking lately . . .” She muttered, running her fingers along the tightly woven threads as tiny specks of light reflected off its length to alight upon her skin. Brushing against it, the tiny, braided string of Hans’ epaulet tied around her finger winked bright gold in the rope’s own light reflections as her fingers tightened around the much larger braided cord.

Ahead of her, Hans slowly made to stand, watching her attentively as his kind voice encouraged her.

“Yes?” He asked, ready to listen.

Clara was silent for a few seconds, thinking, before she looked up at him with a troubled look in her brown eyes, lifting the rope in her hands a bit in point as she finally spoke her thoughts.

“Hans . . . I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.” As her nutcracker blinked at her and the rope in surprise, she looked down at the threads in her hands again, thinking back to the moment she had received it.

The rope had been ordinary once, human-made from thick linen and worn with age. It had been broken in two during a battle, when she had found it in a barn and used it in a plan to save the innocent people of the Fox Guardian’s realm from the raid of mice, including saving the Guardian himself. The plan had worked and she had been rewarded for her efforts with the very rope she had used to help save them, gifted from the Great Fairy herself when the Fae had shed her disguise as an elderly, human woman that Clara had personally helped to safety.

Even in her weakened state, the powerful being had been able to cast a powerful spell on the ordinary cord of fibers that had helped save so many lives, weaving it back together and creating it anew. Both Clara and Hans had watched the recreation in amazement as glittering threads of vibrant colors had appeared out of thin air from around the Queen of Fairies, the threads weaving themselves into the floating rope as her echoing voice had proclaimed each of the ghostly strings to be a single strand of the each Guardian’s life force, be that Guardian slain or still living upon the world.

By the end of the spell, the rope had no longer been of a dulled and aged pale gold, of rough and frayed linen, but of a smooth make like colored glass of ever-shifting hues, sparkling and glowing beautifully with mysterious power.

Clara could remember distinctly the moment when she first held it, the cord’s length softly drifting down into her hands.

She remembered it had felt incredibly warm against her palms, the fibers almost humming against her skin. Then, a split second later, she felt that warmth suddenly race up her arms and surge through her entire body like a hot stroke of lightning, the intense feeling shocking her into breathlessness and causing her heart to skip a beat. She had then stood paralyzed before them all with the rope gripped tightly in her hands, her body lightly shaking, her breathing heavy, and her thoughts in a mix before Hans had managed to snap her out of her shell-shocked daze.

That had been a mere three days ago, but ever since, the magical threads had been both a strange comfort and a puzzling riddle to the ember-haired woman, its warm power felt clearly against her skin, but its intended uses still a complete mystery to her.

A mystery that was really beginning to dig at her curiosity.

Shaking her head in her pondering, she sighed to herself as she tried to clarify what she meant to her listening nutcracker.

“What I mean is . . . the Great Fae said that this would be of great use to me, that it would be vital to our journey . . . but she never told me how!” A small bit of frustration leaked into her voice, as well as a fair amount of desperate wonder. She had already performed minor tests on the gift in the days past, but all the results had only pointed to the abilities of a normal length of rope.

Pulling a section of the rope tight between her hands, she tested its strength and the feel of its strange, smooth coils for the hundredth time on impulse as she continued to study it and speak her thoughts.

“What can it do? What sort of properties does it have?” She looked up at him with her questions, her eyes seemingly searching for an answer in his.

But alas, he did not have one. He only stood with a contemplative expression upon his wooden face, staring back at her with his eyebrows hanging low in gentle regard as he tried to think of something.

“I don’t know . . . maybe . . . it’s unbreakable? Or . . . um . . .” He flinched a bit, dissatisfied with his own answer the moment it left his mouth. His hand instinctively rose to scratch at his head in uneasiness as he tried harder to think of something more helpful for her.

As he stood thinking, shifting from one foot to the other, Clara watched him for a moment, reflecting on his answer, before studying the shimmering loops of the rope again. Testing it once more, she tightened the tension on the length between her hands again.

“Perhaps . . .” She muttered, slowly rising to her feet as a dozen other possibilities joined with Hans’ in her mind.

Pulling and running the smooth rope through her hands, she started forward at a slow walk, in search for meaning as she thought back to the Queen of the Fairies’ last words to her.

“ _To your will, it is woven.”_ She gently recited, carefully stepping over her bedding and their small spread of supplies to walk the small clearing that their small camp was settled in.

 _“With your strength, it is striven.”_ She continued as she started a slow pace a little ways beside their resting spot, reflecting deeply on the meaning of the fairy’s words. All the while her nutcracker’s eyes tracked her movement, watching with a curious gleam and a puzzled look in his golden orbs as he stood by.

 _“And from your love . . . will it awaken.”_ She finished out loud, stopping her slow steps in the open grass as her brows arched down in an expression of determined consideration. The words echoed over and over again in her head as she tried to decipher them.

Looking up, she caught sight of a small sapling standing alone in the small clearing a few feet away from her, its highest branches just a foot or two taller than her. She tilted her head at it pensively, one of her theories popping into her mind to form an idea.

What if . . .

“Clara?” Hans called curiously as Clara moved the rope between her hands, taking one end and looping it back around its length. Soon, she pulled the end tight around its middle in a loose knot, forming a good-sized noose. Then, dangling the lasso from one hand and holding the rest in loops in the other, she began to twirl the hanging length of rope, eyeing the tree ahead. As the rope spin beside her, she concentrated on the feeling of the crystal-like braided threads rubbing against her grasp and mentally reached out for the warm power that softly radiated against her skin from each individual, glittering fiber. A gentle breeze stirred the air around her as she tried to position herself into a comfortable ready pose, her hair starting to dance around her face as the wind grew in strength with the lasso’s every rotation. Clara narrowed her eyes, concentrating past the clattering noise and the bother of the mountain wind.

 _To your will, it is woven._ That was what the Great Fae had said.

Then maybe . . .

To the applause of restless trees clapping in the wind, Clara suddenly pulled her hand back and threw it forward as hard as she could, releasing the spinning rope’s looped end to send it sailing with momentum towards the young tree bending in the tossing wind before her.

Both the cursed nutcracker and the human girl watched the shining cord fly through the air, the young woman holding her breath as she willed it with all her might to lunge forward and wrap around the tree like a climbing snake.

Her efforts were rewarded . . . with the sparkling end of the rope falling limp to the ground with a soft thud, missing the tree’s thin trunk and crashing through its arching branches to land heavily on the green grass just like any other ordinary rope that’s been tossed away.

Both Clara and Hans fell dead silent and still at the unimpressive result, just staring wide eyed at the magical rope shimmering in the dirt and grass as the wind continued to whistle through the trees. Hans himself stared at the winking loop of rope, entirely confused on what Clara had tried to accomplish.

But then, the nutcracker’s bewildered gaze was snapped away from the sight of the disappointing stunt when he noticed Clara beginning to shake, a spark of concern awaking in his chest at the notion of something being wrong.

However, his concern was blown away when he found Clara not upset, but biting her lip with a growing smile. In the next second, she suddenly burst out laughing, her laughter ringing warmly through the air as one hand rose to wipe away the fast coming tears of mirth from her eyes, while the other, still holding the rest of her rope, cradled her stomach in its joyful ache.

At the sound of her honest laughter, the sight of her amusement-bent figure, and the absolutely pitiful result of whatever attempt she had been trying for, Hans couldn’t stop himself from joining in, his own laugh bubbling up out of his throat to merge with hers.

Being the one in need of catching her breath, Clara tried to calm her relentless giggles as she gasped for air and tried to speak, still wiping away tears born from the hilariousness of her ridiculous test.

“W-Well, hehehe! I-I don’t know what I was expecting!” She had expected a moment of magic, for some sort of spell and power to be cast with her throw of the rope given all the other impossible things she had seen on their journey. She had been disappointed instead with normality, but she couldn’t help but find the image of her attempt and its anticlimactic result particularly funny.

Another eruption of chiming giggles left her as she thought on how she must have looked in that moment, causing another dose of Hans’ own laughs in effect. For a long moment, the two just spent the time laughing, the world around them slowly becoming quieter so that their snorts and sniggers were loudest and clearest sound to all.

Wiping away tears of his own, Hans let his chuckles finally trail off as Clara’s softened into light giggles between deep breaths. Looking upon her warmly, he smiled happily as he took a step towards her, letting out a few more chuckles as he addressed her and her previous questions at last.

“Hehe! Well, maybe we can test it out on a few more things tomorrow before we move on. Maybe see just how much it can lift or if it can . . .”

His words trailed off, his amusement stopping short as Clara reopened her shining eyes and looked back at him with reddened cheeks.

At that moment, time seemed to slow down and the world around him suddenly narrowed itself, tapering his focus until all he could see was the beautiful woman standing before his eyes.

Tapering still until all he could see was the bright happiness that played across her beautiful face and sparkled in her warm eyes . . . slowly twisting and draining into a look of absolute horror.

Her laughter abruptly died upon the cold air, leaving only the whistle of the wind’s chill in his ears, and her wondrous smile broke and dropped into a silent scream of alarm. Her elegant body froze in place and the round pupils of her chocolate-brown eyes shrank in petrified terror.

Scared confusion suddenly became all he knew, as for one terrifying second, that worrying, cowardly, irrational part of Hans surged forth once more and screamed at him that his worst fear had finally been realized, that it had finally hit her that he was something to be feared.

A monster he knew he was becoming.

Just a split second of such a thought crushed out any happiness forged in the laughter of a mere moment ago.

But then, within those slow, limping seconds, he came to realize something important.

Her petrified gaze was not upon him.

_She was looking behind him._

The enchanted rope fell from her hands, falling slowly through the air as if it were sinking through water instead.

Everything was suddenly moving so slowly, everything changing at a snail’s pace as Hans felt a growing pounding in his chest, filled with mounting dread.

The magical rope hit the ground in complete silence and Hans could not stop his own confused voice as it broke through the slowness of time before his mind could follow.

“Clar—?”

 ** _“HANS!”_** The girl’s scream rang out like the shattering of glass, her terrified shriek bursting through the lull of time around the nutcracker like a swinging hammer. Time suddenly came back to itself and raced forth like it was fleeing for its life, leaving Hans’ head spinning in its unexpected whiplash.

He didn’t have any time to react as Clara suddenly sprang at him, her hands reaching out for him as his name continued to rush harshly from her throat.

He didn’t understand, for he could not see anything but her.

He could not see the trap being sprung around them, his back turned to the monstrous shadow lunging out from the forest darkness to finally take him violently in its teeth and claws.

He could not see the wicked fangs of a devouring blade racing down to crush him down and rend his body apart.

He could not see . . . until he saw it all reflected in the smallest moment of her tear-filled eyes as she threw herself into a desperate race to reach him first.

Within her eyes, as furious snarling and war-cried screeches filled the once peaceful world, Hans’ body tensed and his mind went blank.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter/Episode End Credits Song: Save Yourself - My Darkest Days
> 
>  
> 
> Well, there you go! One, huge chapter full of nothing but story setup, backstory, and exposition! Sorry about that, but I promise that the main events of the story start with the very next chapter (obviously PPFTT).
> 
> That said, I'm planning to release the rest of the fiction all at once, all six of the next chapters for story purposes, so it may be quite awhile before this work is next updated and completed.
> 
> But until then, I thank you for your patience and for reading! :)
> 
> So stay tuned for the rest, starting with the next chapter: Bounding Terror.
> 
> (P.S. If you spot any grammar/spelling errors, let me know! I like to have my fictions as spotless as possible. Thanks!)


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